Thursday, 24 April 2014

I'd love to say a big thank you to you all for making my birthday special. You're also special to me :) I thank God for my life, and for giving me wonderful friends and family, God bless you all. I decided to share a lil' something I wrote today. Enjoy:

Sunday, 13 April 2014

Today, I wrote like I imagined I would write in my diary and
see what it would turn out to be. I
normally do not keep diaries, mainly because I forget to buy them and even when
someone gets me one, I forget to write in it. So enjoy:-

Today,
I woke feeling tired and as usual, blaming myself for not going to bed earlier
than I did last night. After a short prayer (in my mind, since I was going to
pray more in church anyway), I started my sit-ups with the hope that one day,
my belly might oblige to the hard-work I have been doing for about a week now
and somehow start to look like those of the other ladies I saw at the hot-yoga
place yesterday. I cleaned up afterwards, ready for the light cantaloupe
breakfast and a drink of green tea which I had, before remembering that it was
Palm Sunday, a great day of celebration, so I also helped myself to the cooked
pasta I had in my fridge. I hurried out of my house to catch the bus to church,
promising myself that I would not run because the last time I did, the bus
driver still did not let me get in and drove away. I was at the bus stop on
time; the bus came few minutes later, dropping me off at my intended stop.

As
I climbed the steep hill that led to church from the stop, I shook my head
feeling sorry for the people that lived in the neighbourhood and probably had
to walk that height every day; just before it dawned on me that such people
would be physically fit and healthy, and then I began to wish that I lived in
the neighbourhood. I was about five minutes late to church; I sat down quickly
at the back row not bothering to go up to join the choir. I had never seen the
church so filled up and the only reason I could come up with was that somehow
the Holy Week had reminded people that they were Christians and so, they
decided to show up today. I had no palm leaf, so I turned to ask the lady
beside me where I could get one from and she gave me the only one she was
holding and asked me to keep it; it reminded of how kind the people here are
(except for the bus driver some weeks ago).

The
Mass was similar to almost every Palm Sunday Mass I had attended in my life; the
Passion of Christ according to Matthew was read with more lectors to play the
role of Pilate, Peter, the soldiers and the crucifiers (or crowd). I had always
wondered why we read the Passion of Christ on Palm Sunday and today, I decided
to find out from the priest. The only thing different in church today was that
we did not have any Palm Sunday procession like we used to in Nigeria just before
Mass, where some roads got blocked because the congregation would sing and
dance on the streets, or like in Ghana where we walked around the church
singing, or like in Sheffield where we walk almost quietly to the city centre
with our palms in our hands after Mass. So after church, I stayed behind to
question the priest. I asked him about the reading and he explained that the
Passion reading was to set in the mood of Holy Week and so, even though we were
celebrating the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem today, we should still
be aware of the crucifixion and death, and not celebrate too much. I felt a pang
of guilt over my generous breakfast; nonetheless I was happy to get the
clarification. I also asked him why there was no church procession but he said
that the parish did not have processions because it rained a lot in the city. That
would have made perfect sense to me except that it was not raining today
neither had it rained in about a week, so I did not understand why we still
could not walk around the church.

As
I was about to leave the church, I said hello to one of the Parish members. He
was the first person I had met the first day I attended church here. He offered
to drop me off even though I told him that my destination was only ten minutes
walk away but he insisted and so I hopped into the car. He drove past where I
was heading for because he thought I said I was going home, so I had to remind
him that I was going to the office instead. Realising
his mistake, he apologized and I got off the car, now having an extra 15
minutes to walk. I was not sad though because I knew he was only trying to
helpful (plus it was a lesson for me to say no to free rides sometimes). As I
walked to the office, I met a couple on the road who were holding “Stop
Abortion” signboards. They started talking to me; they said they knew I was
Catholic because of the palm in my hand. We talked for a short while about the
interestingly different national, religious and health views concerning
abortion, before I left them to continue my journey. I got into the building,
went to greet my colleague and course mate because I knew she would be in her
office; she was always there and she always had something edible for me. She gave
me a sandwich today (yesterday, she got me a frappuccino J)
before I went into my office to finish up my assignments and studied for my
forthcoming exam.

I
got home this evening and I decided to write all of this down before going to bed. As I wrote, I
imagined what other people’s diaries might look like for today; most likely
different from mine or probably even similar, except that I did not add “Dear
Diary” at the top.

So this is what I did today, what about you? Until next week, have a blessed and Holy Week :D

Sunday, 6 April 2014

Hello Hi,
I hope you had a great weekend. You know when people say "What you don't know will not kill you"? Well, I believe that sometimes what one does not know can not only kill one but also others around one. And so, my thoughts came up with this story. Enjoy:

Nobody
knew her name; her grandmother called her “Nwa’m”
(my child) and so everybody referred to her in that way, although no one else spoke
to her. The rumour was that her mother had given birth five times before her, with
all five children dying within a year after birth, and so they had not bothered
to name this one since her family did not think she would stay anyway. Her
mother had died a few minutes after giving birth to her, leaving Nwam alone
with her father and no siblings. So when her dad remarried, she was sent to
live with her maternal grandmother at three years old; Nwam called her ‘Mama’. Her
father visited regularly at first and after a while the visits became less
frequent, occurring only during Christmas and festive periods and for the past ten
years, he had not come again. Nwam had asked Mama once why her father no longer
visited but Mama only spat on the ground and muttered a curse in Igbo language
without replying. Nwam did not understand exactly what Mama had said but she
knew it had something to do with her stepmother, whom she had never met. After years
of waiting and longing for her dad to appear somehow in Mama’s compound, Nwam
finally came to realise that it would never happen and gave up hope.

Sixteen
years had passed since she was born and Nwam had not yet gone as expected. It was a huge surprise to everyone in the village
and not even Mama could hide it. Every evening when Nwam said goodnight to her,
Mama would hug her so tight like it was the last time she would see her, and in
the mornings when Nwam greeted her, Mama would look surprised and respond saying
“I ga bele?” (You have not yet gone?),
as if she had sent Nwam on her errand the night before. And even though it was
now sixteen years, Mama still reacted exactly the same way every morning, like her
expectations would never change.

Nwam was
seen as different from the other village girls, mostly because of the mystery behind
her name and family birth history. Nobody ever saw her outside her grandmother’s
compound except on Sundays when she followed Mama to the Anglican Church. There
was something about Nwam that could make even a newcomer to the village feel
that she was special; it was not only
because she was much taller than her age mates or because she was far advanced
in sexual development compared to the other girls. It was something about the way she walked, as
light and gracious as a cat, yet avoiding eye contact as much as possible, and never
smiling. Nwam was otherwise an attractive girl, with very long and curly, dark
hair but she never spoke to anyone except Mama. The only time one heard her
voice was when she sang, mostly in the early mornings whilst she swept the
compound; her golden voice so beautiful such that even the birds would rather
listen to her than sing themselves. Yet, somehow she had neither friends nor
suitors.

Everyone
had suspicions about her. Some said that she was an ogbanje (abiku- evil
spirit) due to her recurrent siblings’ deaths in the past or even a mermaid because
of the way she sang, but others were not convinced because her skin was unusually
too dark for her to be either; even though it shone brighter than the girls’
with lighter complexion. Some thought she was her mother’s reincarnated spirit,
as was the common belief when someone died during childbirth. However, she barely
resembled her mother leaving some people yet again in disbelief. Whichever way,
everyone had their speculations about her looks, her voice and her family;
whispering stories to each other whenever she was seen in church or her name
was mentioned. The feelings were almost mutual because Nwam was just as afraid of
people just like they were of her and she desperately hoped to go somewhere one
day, just like Mama expected her to, even though she did not know where yet.

It so
happened that during one of Mama’s bestfriend’s (Daa Mgbeke) evening visits,
Nwam overheard their conversation. Usually they whispered every time they spoke
when she was around, just like the rest of the villagers but this evening, they
thought Nwam was asleep and so they spoke aloud. “Ada
nwaanyi, what is she waiting for?” it was Daa Mgbeke speaking. “Maybe she needs
help. You should give her the Ede leaf
and that will take her straight to where she belongs; I have told you many
times.” she continued. Mama whispered something that Nwam did not hear but it
did not matter as Nwam finally understood where she was expected to go to. So the
next morning, Nwam was found lying in the bush, as if she was sleeping, but
with some of the Ede leaves in her
hands.

It was
no surprise that the entire village attended Nwam’s funeral; all of them waiting
to see if something mysterious would happen that day. Rain poured down from the
clouds in the morning, with the sun coming out in the afternoon and a rainbow
appearing in the sky that evening. For many, the transient weather change was
the confirmation they needed to believe that Nwam was indeed ‘special’. What they had failed to realise was that Nwam
was no different from any of the girls in the village; but how could they have
known when many things had never been told? Just as Nwam’s mother had never
told Nwam’s father that the doctor had warned her not to get pregnant again due
to medical complications during her last childbirth, and so because she did not
want to be called barren, she had died whilst giving birth to Nwam, leaving her
motherless; just as Nwam’s father had never told Mama that Nwam had the genotype
AS unlike his other earlier children who had died from sickle cell disease
crisis, and so Mama had thought that Nwam would go like the rest; just as Mama had never told Nwam that her real
name given by her father was Nneka, and so Nwam felt like she had no identity
and grew up thinking that she was not even wanted in this world. Finally, just
as no one told the villagers including Daa Mgbeke any of these truths concerning
Nwam, including that Nwam looked like her father and was just as tall as him;
that Nwam sang beautifully just like her mother used to and that her hair was
just as long and curly as her paternal grandmother’s, when she was alive.

As a
result Nwam had died inside, long before she was found dead in the bush that
morning and it was with great sorrow that Mama exclaimed “Oh Nwa’m! Ga ofuma! (Oh my child, go well!)”

I hope you enjoyed it and if you like it, please share and leave your comments behind. You can also click on the Google icon to recommend and follow me on twitter for more updates @vivio_gogo. Have a lovely week. xx

About Me

A little something about me, hmmm....I love to write (obviously, hee hee) so I decided to start this blog after a little push from my friends and family. Some people describe me as sarcastic and funny but I love to take myself serious, lol. I like hot yoga, i don't like snow, i'm still learning how to ...

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